


My Heart is by the Hearth

by AngryPirateHusbands



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Development, Coping, Developing Relationship, Everyone Is Gay, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8525884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands/pseuds/AngryPirateHusbands
Summary: Flint wasn't quite sure when he had decided to allow Silver to accompany him to the Interior. Actually, that was incorrect in its entirity. It alluded to the idea that it had been a conscious decision when, in actuality, the man hadn't given him much of a choice.Takes place after S2.





	

Flint wasn't quite sure when he had decided to allow Silver to accompany him to the Interior. Actually, that thought was incorrect in its entirity. It alluded to the idea that it had been a conscious decision when, in actuality, the man hadn't given him much of a choice. Since Silver had first overheard his plans for this trip he had all but refused to remain behind. Instead he droned on and on, listing the myriad of reasons as to why he should be permitted to come along. That was three days ago. Silver went on about how the men could stand to be left to their own devices for a few days. That they would be in port at Nassau for at least a week and that there was only so much to be done before they set sail once more. When that inevitably failed Silver cleverly pandered towards his concern for his injured leg. He confessed his dire need for some fresh air to fill his lungs and solid ground on which to stretch his limbs. Not to mention how difficult it was to navigate the town's crowded streets with the iron boot. It was those words that finally made the captain yield.

Flint had always harbored a soft spot for Silver's loss and the resulting pain it caused him, and the bastard knew it.

The two now rode along the beaten dirt path that wound far from the beaches of Nassau and the ocean beyond it. Silver's mare was tethered to Flint's own black steed to ensure it would keep pace and not get out of hand. It went without saying that a false leg did not agree with stirrups. The sun had risen to the center of the sky and had cast the island into a sweltering heat. The hum of the cicada filled the air, interrupted only by brief conversation. To Flint's shock the quartermaster remained fairly quiet during the journey. Whether it was due to his interest in the unfamiliar surroundings of the interior or discomfort from riding, he wasn't sure. Either way he was grateful for the silence. The past few weeks had been rather taxing, and while this journey had a purpose he had anticipated the opportunity to take a step back. To close his eyes and reflect, and stave off the grief that still gripped his heart so tightly. This was the first time he was returning to the home he and Miranda had shared, the first time he had even come this far inland since Charlestown.

Despite the time that had passed her ghost still haunted him. Whether in his dreams or his waking hours, she was there with that shrouded black figure not far behind. Flint knew that her presence was what had kept him from this place. Fear was not something he ever wished to admit he harbored. Yet in a way, Flint knew that Silver was keenly aware of it. He had been there the evenings he woke from nightmares, covered in sweat and shaking. The man could tell when he was drifting within his mind, lost to the turbulent sea of thoughts without a tether, and he was always there to bring him back onto solid ground. It almost made Flint wonder if that was why he had insisted on accompanying him in the first place. So that he wouldn't face the inevitable storm alone.

"Captain?"

Flint angled a stern gaze towards his quartermaster. "Don't call me that this far inland. While we may not exactly blend in with the farmers and merchants, it'd be best not to draw undue attention to ourselves." While they may still be surrounded by plots of wheat and corn, he may as well make himself clear now.

A sigh. "Very well, James."

" _Flint_ ," he corrected him. He didn't even have to turn to feel the smirk that surely pulled at Silver's lips.

"Alright," Silver eventually agreed. Then, "May I ask exactly why you've decided come here?"

"I don't believe that's any of your concern."

Silver hummed. "I beg to disagree. It's my duty to stand between you and the men, to ensure they aren't subjected to misguided orders that could do them harm. To do that, I need to make sure you stay safe from _yourself_."

Flint exhaled sharply through his nose, his lips pursed. So he had been right after all. "I need to recover something," he offered simply. "Having a few day's respite from the rest of the men is just an added benefit." Based on the silence that followed, Silver was satisfied with that answer. At least for now.

Within the next hour they had arrived at the small cottage. While they had gathered a few curious looks as they rode past the farm houses on the outskirts of town, they were otherwise left alone. Flint dismounted first, boots striking heavily against the ground before he led the two horses to a post. He then lent Silver his shoulder for stability as he too climbed down. The fingers that gripped the muscle did little to distract him from the weight that had suddenly bore down on the edge of his mind. Yet when that touch not only lingered but tightened, Flint's gaze shifted over to the man. Silver's eyes held his until he managed to regain the movement in his legs.

Other than the thick layer of dust that coated every surface, the place was just as Miranda had left it. It was completely undisturbed. Flint's fingertips trailed over the edge of a teacup that had been left against the table. The telltale step-thunk-step of Silver's approach kept him anchored to the present, and that voice kept the mess of emotions and memories from pulling him under. "It's certainly... tidy," Silver had offered as he looked about the house.

Those words gave Flint pause. His eyes left the porcelain cup to instead rest on Silver in an incredulous look. The expression was not lost on Silver who arched a brow in curiosity. Flint merely tapped his fingers against the edge before drawing away. "Yes, well... This place really became Miranda's, after a point. Piracy doesn't permit much time spent at home."

Silver hummed. The iron tip of his prosthetic clunked rhythmically against the floorboards as he had a look around. "She shared your love of books," he noted softly. Flint watched intently as the man picked up a thick volume that had been sitting near the window. "Arcadia," he read as he lifted the cover with his thumb. Whether or not he saw the _I'm sorry_ inscribed on the front page he wasn't certain, as Silver immediately let the book fall closed. Apparently he had become distracted by his heavy gaze. The book was set down and Flint could immediately feel the tension leaving his body. Something he wasn't even aware of until after the fact. As the man continued to explore the house Flint wandered into the kitchen to bring some water to boil. Just as he was about to ask if he wanted some tea he heard a single key of the harpsichord cut through the air, the harsh sound immediately followed by a swear. "Christ, that's a god awful sound."

Flint snorted. "I would have to agree with you."

"Wasn't aware such a thing was even possible."

Flint scoffed in an attempt to ignore the smirk threatening at the corner of his mouth. Silver continued to explore the home and the captain left him to do just that. Between himself and Miranda the house wasn't exactly teeming with personal belongings. There were no secrets he sought to hide, save for the item he had come back to recover. However, since Mr. Guthrie's stay so long ago it had been moved far from prying eyes. At the very least he hoped that it yet remained. While there were no signs of a breakin, he had yet to take a look through the rest of the house. Besides, he doubted any thieves would assign much value to a simple painting.

Flint had just finished preparing the leaves to steep when he saw her. She stood in the open doorway, her hair pulled back in that neat bun as it always was, her dress clean and delicate. The only blemish that existed was that bullet hole in her right temple. A small amount of blood seeped from the wound as if it were still fresh. Immediately Flint's grip on the teapot loosened. He didn't hear if fall to the ground, didn't hear it shatter. The only thing that cut through the thick fog that blanketed his mind was that familiar voice.

"Captain..?" When Flint turned he saw Silver edging towards him from the hallway. He moved carefully with a hand against the wall to brace himself, the concern obvious in his expression. The moment Flint glanced back Miranda was gone. Once again she had been nothing more than an apparition, a haunting. When Silver spoke again that soft timbre brought him back, this time for good.

"It's alright," Silver assured him. Without hesitation that hand reached out to clasp his shoulder. Warm, firm, soothing. An anchor.

Though Flint's lips parted he couldn't find it in himself to speak. Any words he sought died long before they so much as reached his tongue. Instead he swallowed down the lump in his throat before glancing at the empty doorway once more. Nothing. With a heavy breath he allowed his eyes to slip closed, and managed a small nod. As always he was grateful for Silver's quiet understanding in these moments of weakness. The man knew his demons almost as well as he. He knew what it was he saw when his eyes glazed over, and any words spoken to him fell on deaf ears. And just as always Silver never questioned or pushed the matter. Instead he simply assisted in cleaning up the broken pieces of pottery.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without further incident, more or less. Flint gave Silver a proper tour of the home and surrounding land, if for no other purpose than to fill the time. The remaining hours were spent further discussing their plans for the crew over the next several weeks. Not to mention their aim for Nassau as a whole. As usual when they took on these type of discussions, it didn't take long for it to evolve into a rather heated debate. Though the distinction was near impossible for outsiders to notice, it was far different from an argument. They were not in absolute disagreement; rather, they were testing each other. Alternating turns playing the Devil's advocate, a role Flint had always enjoyed, to poke and prod the other to encounter the problem from a completely different angle. If Thomas or Miranda yet lived, he was certain that the quartermaster would give them both a run for their money. Their stark differences and the way in which they challenged one another only solidified the strength of their partnership.

By the time the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon their discussions had evolved into something slightly less argumentative. Specifically, literature. During Silver's recovery he had easily gone through every book in his personal collection, and they often spent the late evening discussing them. While Silver had once claimed to be rather disinterested with reading as a whole, his encompassing comprehension and knack for finding the deeper meanings behind the words proved otherwise. However, as the candles burned low Silver had tired of even this. Flint let the man be on his way, green eyes watching as he slowly hobbled down the hall, stifling a yawn, before disappearing into the spare room. Flint frowned slightly. He stood and collected _Arcadia_ from where Silver had abandoned it. Fingers traced over the hard leather cover as he laid it on the table and went to fetch his stash of rum. He always kept several bottles tucked underneath the cabinet, away from Miranda's disapproving gaze. And so, with a book in one hand and a bottle in the other, he settled down for a sleepless night.

Flint should have known better. He never got more than a few pages into the thick volume. Instead, he kept flipping back to the first page to touch the ink inscription with his fingertips. He remembered his argument with Miranda. How angry they had both been, and how regretful he became once he finally realized that she had been right all along. By the time the bottle was emptied he was slumped forward, fingernails nails digging into the pages. Guilt and rage coursed through him in the most unrelenting way. Quickly he tore the page from the book before flinging the volume against the wall. The heavy glass bottle followed, breaking with a loud shatter as he shouted out in frustration. A chair soon joined the destruction before he shoved the table onto its side, scattering the contents across the floor with a clatter.

"Captain."

Flint's chest heaved as he drew in ragged breaths. Fingers clenched and released as he sought vainly to reign in his temper; his entire form trembled with it. When he finally raised his gaze to look at the man his vision shifted slightly from the rum. There Silver stood, the man regarding him with a curiously calm expression.

"You should get some rest," Silver continued gently.

Flint swallowed. Green eyes moved over the man until they rested on his injured leg. The prosthetic was still there, as was his belt. Had the man been waiting up for him? With a shake of his head Flint pushed the thoughts from his mind. He briefly glanced at the mess he had caused before following Silver as he retreated back down the hall. He was about to return to the spare room when Flint reached out to grab his wrist, effectively stopping him. His fingers were curled around him in a firm yet gentle grasp, his eyes downcast as a thumb stroked across the smooth skin of his inner wrist, feeling his pulse. Despite the confusion that surely colored the quartermaster's expression, he didn't question it as he was coaxed into the main bedroom.

Only once the door was shut did Flint relinquish his hold. He pulled the coat from around his shoulders only to drop it over the back of a chair. Meanwhile Silver maneuvered passed him to sit on the edge of the bed, and the moment he had Flint sank to his knees in front of him. Hands reached up to smooth over Silver's thigh before lowering to unfasten the straps that secured the iron boot in place. Despite the alcohol that cloaked his mind in a thick fog, his fingers had long memorized the movements. Soon the straps were undone and Flint was carefully pulling the boot free. He leaned the makeshift leg against the nightstand before his palms returned to the healthy limb above his knee joint. Flint released a low breath as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against his thigh. His eyes squeezed shut.

Mere moments had passed before Flint felt Silver's hands smooth over his shorn head before lightly resting at the base of his neck. Thumbs caressed the skin behind his ear, the gentle touch soothing. "What are you feeling?" Silver asked quietly. "Will you tell me, James?"

Green eyes slid open as Flint fought against the darkness that threatened at the edge of his mind. His eyes felt so heavy. After a moment he finally managed to find his voice. "Lost," he confessed, his voice but a low rasp. It was hardly recognizable. "Alone. Guilty. _Enraged..._ " The last word was spoken with a trembling force.

Silver continued to stroke the edge of his jaw with the pad of his thumb. It was a comforting touch, one that helped to assuage the voices that constantly taunted him. Moments later the captain felt those lips press against the crown of his head. A hand slipped beneath his chin to tilt it upwards, and then those lips touched against his own. They were warm, soft and strangely liberating, just as they always were. Eventually Silver broke their kiss only to rest his forehead against his own. "And now..?" the man asked, his tone careful albeit a bit breathless.

"Warm..." Flint murmured. When he gazed upwards those brilliant blue eyes were searching his. What for, he wasn't certain. Flint reached up to cradle the man's jaw as their mouths came together once more. The movements of their lips remained chaste, gentle and affectionate.

Flint didn't remember casting aside his clothing. He didn't remember climbing onto the bed to hover over the man he had come to fall so hard for. All that remained the next morning was the memory of the wonderful sensations. The feel of Silver's skin beneath his fingertips, the warmth pressed against his palms. He remembered the taste of ginseng on Silver's lips and the softness of his tongue as he caressed the inside of his mouth. The scent of sweat and salt as their bodies came together, their skin hot and flushed as if burning with fever. The comforting weight of Silver's head against his chest as the two of them were inevitably pulled into sleep's embrace...

The following day Silver stood silently against the doorway, watching as Flint retrieved the oil panting from its hiding spot behind a mess of crates and covered canvas. Neither said anything as Flint unwrapped the artwork and began to work it loose from its simple frame. Nothing still as he rolled it up with great care, tying with ribbon before better preparing it for the journey back to the ship. Silver didn't offer any questions. He didn't ask why he had come to save the piece, didn't question the identity of the man depicted beside Miranda's detailed likeness. As with most things, it was not due to a lack of curiosity, but rather trust that Flint would explain when the time was right. And several months later, he would do just that.

Silver would come to learn the name Thomas Hamilton. The man with whom this war began. And not long after, Flint would share with him the name in which this war continued to be fought. It would be the man's very own, John Silver.


End file.
